


The Untold Want

by liamthebastard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst-ish?, Future Fic, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The untold want, by life and land ne'er granted,</em>
  <br/><em>Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Untold Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andersfel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andersfel/gifts).



> Inspired by Walt Whitman's piece, the Untold Want, which is the summary. Can be read as gen or preslash. Prompted by Steroech when I asked for angsty Sterek stuff.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when Stiles left. Derek knew it was coming. Senior year was drawing to a close, and while everyone else was busy making plans for the summer - an internship for Allison, a final credit of summer school for Scott, a fantastic study abroad program for Lydia, Boyd’s job at the library, Erica’s determination to spend every day at the library harassing him and Isaac’s determination to not be Erica’s ride to and from the library- Stiles remained purposefully vague on what he wanted to do. 

The night before graduation, Stiles showed up at the loft. Isaac and the others were out, celebrating the culmination of their high school lives, but Stiles just shrugged when Derek asked why he was at the loft instead of with them. 

“Cut out early. Too many couples, ya know?” Stiles said, a smile quirking at the corners of his lips. But Derek knew better, two years with Stiles had taught him to see through the false humor and sarcasm Stiles wore like a shield. 

“The truth, Stiles,” Derek admonished. 

Stiles pushed past him into the loft, aiming for the fridge and grabbing two beers. He tossed one to Derek, and sat on the couch with the other in hand. He didn’t drink it, just rolled the bottle in his hands and picked at the label. “I- I don’t want to stay here,” Stiles finally admitted. “There’s too much…”

Derek sat beside him. “Too much history?” he filled in. Stiles nodded, and sighed, pushing a hand through his hair and messing it up even more than it already was.

“Yeah. And people… too many people who _know_ me, or who knew me once, and it’s just smothering me. Everywhere I go, people see my mom, or my dad, or the eight year old who used to trick or treat at their house four times a night in different costumes,” Stiles said. He set the beer on the coffee table and rested his head in his hands. “It just feels like too much.”

“You didn’t apply to any schools,” Derek said. Stiles just shook his head. 

“How am I not surprised you know that?” he laughed, but it didn’t sound happy. It sounded bleak. 

The werewolf didn’t answer. Let Stiles wonder. Better Stiles just chalk it up to freaky werewolf mojo than to know that Derek could see it in his face every time Scott talked about going to the same college, when Lydia demanded that they send schedules around to try and find weekends and overlapping breaks so the pack could be together. Everyone else would look hopeful and excited, but just for a second, Stiles’s face would flash regret. Then a moment later he’d make some joke and everyone would laugh and the subject would change. But Derek knew. 

“You get it, though, right? Why I need to leave. You did it, twice,” Stiles said. He sounded almost desperate, like he needed Derek to confirm that this was the right choice. “Jesus, _how_ did you do it?”

Derek hadn’t thought about it in a while, how good leaving had felt. Especially the second time, when he was running not from singed memories of the past but to a better future. “Clean breaks,” he decided. “I knew I’d done everything I could here, and that others would rise up to be better than I was in my place. Everything was in order.” 

“Is it better without goodbyes?” Stiles asked. Derek looked over at him, this eighteen year old who was already shouldering the world. Being in a pack, especially one as unstable as theirs had been, took its toll on the members. Werewolves at least got the sense of family and stability. Human members often didn’t. And Stiles had never fully felt part of the pack, even Scott’s. He’d always considered himself a weakness instead of an asset. Derek considered his answer carefully. 

“Sometimes. I didn’t leave anyone behind when Laura and I left. But when I left again, I left behind a pack that cared about me. I think that was the wrong choice. You all deserved to say goodbye,” Derek finally answered. 

They sat in silence for a bit, Derek sipping at his beer while Stiles breathed, short shallow breaths that were barely shy of hyperventilation. To help stave off the impending anxiety, Derek reached out a hand and set in on Stiles’s shoulder. 

“But you came back,” Stiles choked out. 

“Not voluntarily, not at first. Laura was the one who came back. She called me a thousand times to convince me to come out. I was on my way here when she- when it happened,” Derek stumbled over the event. It was still hard to speak about Laura, about her death. “And when I came back again, it was because I was needed.”

Stiles let out a strangled laugh. “Jesus, you’ve got a hero complex,” Stiles said. 

Derek shrugged. “Never said I didn’t. I’m working on it,” he admitted. Stiles just nodded. 

“I’ve been thinking about where I want to go,” Stiles said abruptly. “Is… is New York nice?”

“It’s pretty safe. Big enough city that any packs in the area leave each other and everyone else alone. It’s… it’s a good place to disappear.” 

Stiles smiled a little, like Derek had just confirmed his thoughts. “Would you do something for me?” he asked. Derek nodded. Stiles took a deep, shaking breath. “Take me to the airport?”

*

They drove back to the Sheriff’s place, and Stiles grabbed three suitcases that were leaned up against his bedroom wall. His room was stripped, and Derek realized he hadn’t seen the inside of it in weeks. Now the walls were bare, missing all their posters and photos. The bookcase too was similarly empty. The room overall looked more like a guest bedroom than Stiles’s childhood room. 

Derek helped him load up the car, and they drove. It was a four hour drive to LAX, and Stiles was unusually quiet for it. Together, they walked into the airport, up to the ticket counter. Stiles purchased a single ticket, one-way, departing in an hour. 

“I should go,” he said, fidgeting a little. 

“I’ll help with your bags,” was all Derek said, taking two of the three and heading for Stiles’s gate. 

When they arrived, Derek handed the suitcases over to Stiles. “I’ll make some calls before I leave LA. I’ll let some people know you’re coming, but tell them to leave you alone unless you ask for help. Here’s the address of the apartment in New York, Laura bought it with her share of the inheritance, you can stay there. It’s been empty so there’s no water or electric, but you should be able to sleep there,” Derek said, scribbling down the address on the back of a business card from his wallet. “Oh, key. Here.” Derek tugged the bronze key off his keyring where it’d sat for over two years. He took one of Stiles’s hands from the suitcases and pressed the key into his palm. 

Stiles just watched with wide eyes. His fingers curled around the key, gripping it tight. “Why are you helping me?” he asked. 

Derek caught his eye, held the eye contact until it was almost painful. “Everyone deserves a fresh start, Stiles. A chance to forget.”

The younger man nodded. “Thank you,” he said. 

Derek watched as Stiles turned and walked to security, heading for his gate. He kept an eye on Stiles until he passed out of sight. 

Stiles didn’t turn back once.


End file.
